Tuesday, April 21, 2015

don't say nothin'

I go to put coins in the meter on South Salina Street and I see Malik. He doesn't see me. Or does he? I put the ticket on the dash. I wave. I don't register with him. I walk up to Malik. No avoiding me, or me him now. "Don't say nothin'" he yells. He repeats it. "Everytime I see you you talk shit. Don't say nothin'." I laugh. He's laughing. We bump fists. He's walking away. "Don't say nothin'." I do say something, something like, "Howya doin'?" His "don't say nothin'" is mildly curious, because last time I saw him, some months ago, I listened to his jive and boom! just like that got him a $25 Subway gift card (which he may've hustled and sold on the street minutes later; don't know; don't care). Far as I can tell his "don't say nothin'" imprecation and incantation is meant as a bulwark to my calling him out on his self-deceptions, a rampart against my wisecracks wedging cracks in the walls of his denial. Whatev. Or because I'm simply as FOS as he is. Er.

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